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a foreign country with false identification.”
    He stared at her for ten full seconds, then roared with laughter. “You’re wonderful. Seriously. Now, I need a detailed description of the bronze. I need to be able to recognize her quickly.”
    She studied him, wondering how anyone could keep up with a man who flipped from hilarity to brisk business in the blink of an eye. “Ninety point four centimeters in height, twenty-four point sixty-eight kilograms in weight, a nude female with the blue-green patina typical of a bronze more than five hundred years old.”
    As she spoke, the image of it flashed brilliantly in her head. “She’s standing on the balls of her feet, her arms lifted—it would be easier if I just sketched it for you.”
    “Great.” He walked over to a cabinet, took a pad and pencil from a drawer. “As precise as you can. I hate to make mistakes.”
    She sat, and with a speed and skill that had his brows lifted, put the image in her mind on paper. The face, that sly and sensuous smile, the seeking, spread fingers lifted high, the fluid arch of the body.
    “Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured, struck by the power of the image as he leaned over Miranda’s shoulder. “You’re good. Do you paint?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”

    “Because I don’t.” She had to struggle not to jerk her shoulder. His cheek nearly rested against her as she sketched in the last details.
    “You have real talent. Why waste it?”
    “I don’t. A skilled sketch can be very helpful in my work.”
    “A gift for art should give you pleasure in your life.” He took the sketch, studied it another moment. “You’ve got a gift.”
    She set her pencil down and rose. “The drawing’s accurate. If you’re lucky enough to stumble across it, you’ll recognize the bronze.”
    “Luck has very little to do with it.” Idly, he flicked a fingertip down her cheek. “You look a bit like her—the shape of the face, the strong bone structure. It would be interesting to see you with that cagey, self-aware smile on your face. You don’t smile very often, Miranda.”
    “I haven’t had much to smile about lately.”
    “I think we can change that. The car will be here in about an hour—Abby. Take some time and get used to your new name. And if you don’t think you can remember to call me Kevin . . .” He winked at her. “Just call me sweetheart.”
    “I will not.”
    “Oh, one last thing.” He pulled a small jeweler’s box out of his pocket. When he flipped the lid the flash of diamonds made her blink. “By the power invested in me, and so forth,” he said, plucking it out of the box and taking her hand.
    “No.”
    “Don’t be such an idiot. It’s window dressing.”
    It wasn’t possible not to look down and be dazzled when he shoved it on her finger. The wedding band was studded with brilliant square-cut diamonds, four in all, that sparkled like ice. “Some window. I suppose it’s stolen.”
    “You wound me. I’ve got a friend who runs a place in the diamond district. I got it wholesale. I need to pack.”
    She worried the ring on her finger while he started up the stairs. It was absurd, but she wished the ring hadn’t fit quite so perfectly. “Ryan? Can you really do this?”
    He sent her a wink over his shoulder. “Watch me.”
    He knew immediately she’d been into his things. She’d been neat, but not quite neat enough. In any case, she wouldn’t have seen the small telltales he left scattered through his room—the single strand of hair placed over the knobs of his double closet doors, the slim bit of invisible tape over the top of his dresser drawer. It was an old habit, and one he’d never broken even with the high security in his building.
    He only shook his head. She wouldn’t have found anything he hadn’t wanted her to find.
    He opened his closet, pressed a mechanism hidden under a portion of the chair rail, and stepped into his private room. Selecting what he needed didn’t take much time. He’d already thought it through. He would need his picks, the pocket electronics of his trade. The coil of thin, flexible rope, surgical gloves.
    Spirit gum, hair color, a couple of scars, two pairs of glasses. He doubted the job would call for disguises, and if it went correctly, it wouldn’t call for anything but the most basic of tools. Still, he preferred to be prepared for anything.
    These he packed carefully in the false bottom of his suitcase. He added the expected choices